Walking across the room, he leans on my dresser, crossing his arms in front of him. “So, what’s going on?”
Where to start? Do I tell him everything I’ve been feeling recently? Do I mention the cause, this Carson guy?
Or do I keep it simple and relatively secret?
“Continuing our conversation from the phone the other night,” I say hesitantly, watching for any shift in his body language. “Sing integrating into the human world, have you ever tracked someone’s presence?”
He stares off, his eyebrows furrowing as if he’s rackingevery memory in his brain. The longer he stares, the more frustration grows inside me. Is hereallyhere to help me, or is he here to be the dickhead he’s always been?
I sniffle loudly, and on purpose, drawing his attention over. As his gaze snaps to me, he rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Can yoube patient? For once? I’ve lived a lot in our minimal years.”
“Still killing?” I ask it with a laugh, as if it’s a joke, but my laughter dies out, silence engulfing us. There’s truth in the question. I’m curious.
“No.” The word is strong, his tone firm.
I nod twice. “Same.”
“Not once?” he asks, looking me over.
“Nope.” I raise a brow. “You?”
He shakes his head. “No. Been close, though.”
This is my moment. I can see how…humanhis emotions are. How deeply they run, if they dominate him, or if he’s in total control.
“Almost lose control in a bar fight, or something?” I press, giving a smile to ease some of the tension.
His shoulders fall, and he adjusts the way he leans against the wood. “No. I had a girlfriend who kept getting herself into trouble. I had to protect her, no matter the cost.”
Okay, there’s a lot to unpack there.
“Girlfriend?” I gawk, my jaw dropping involuntarily.
He tilts his head and raises both brows at me. “That’s what I said, and you would’ve known, had you not pulled a disappearing act on me.”
Riiight.
I guess he would be a little sensitive that I cut him outof my life only a few months into our integration with humanity. It wasn’t a pretty parting. There was a lot of anger, a lot of cutthroat words.
Something bubbles and grows inside me at the memory of the last time we spoke. Something I had to learn as I adapted to human life—a life out of the shadows.
Guilt. Remorse.
“Part of me wanted to say,I told you soright when I got here,” he says, and I open my mouth to cuss him out, but he keeps going. “But when I got here, I didn’t want to anymore. It didn’t feel right.”
I blink at him. “How come?”
He lifts an arm from where it was just crossed, holding a finger out and smirking. “Because you needing my help, calling me—which you could only do because you kept my number after ghosting me—was enough of anI told youmoment for me.”
Okay, so he’s still a dickhead.
“Kept it just in case I ever needed it.” I brush past the statement as quickly as I can, clearing my throat before continuing. “Can you answer my question, please?”
“I have tracked people before, but always willingly, like the days of our…past.” Finally, an answer. “I find I’m less accurate now, since it’s not a skill I particularly care to hone anymore.”
Well,fuckme, I guess.
This would be so much easier if Orian had experienced what I’m going through. Easier to deal with, easier to get over. Is this going to be yet another thing he rubs in my face?
